Something about a bar
by Ellyndia McGovern III
Summary: Madam Rosmerta's unique view on Snape- in 1971. 1981. and 1993.


Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recongnize.

Something About a Bar

Prologue:  
I always wanted to remain close to home, from when I first saw the wide expanses of the English moor, to when I fell in love with the hustle and bustle of Hogsmeade. I visited the town as frequently as I could while I was a student at Hogwarts- loving every bit of it- the place swam of my wizarding heritage, and I really wasn't eager to delve into decieving the poor Muggles about my self. I really didn't want to live with the fact that I would always have to hide something from them. Believe it or not, I wanted to become a wholesome member of society- at a time where You-Know-Who was beginning to shock and scare everyone.

I was a good student; made above average grades, and could have went abroad to study in advanced Wizard colleges. But they were too far away, too big; I felt that I wasn't ready mentally to prepare for a huge institution, where one can become merely a name, a number. I wanted an amount of freedom, and like many in my time didn't want to be tied down to a formalized education.

So, instead of applying to far away colleges, as many of my friends were doing in 1971, I looked for a job in Hogsmeade. The town of my youth embraced me; here were the shops full of memories, still served by the same, smiling personas whom I had gotten friendly with over my years at Hogwarts.  
Many of them were muted now, however. You-Know-Who was beginning to rise into power, and we were all afraid that his Death Eaters might suddenly storm a place, kill a bunch of people, or take their children for mean cruel purposes (as was the rumor at the time).  
Such stories rocked my childhood, and every once in awhile something would happen that would put the wizarding society on high alert.  
********  
1971:  
The inn was busy, full of the lighthearted chatter of excited eighteen-year-olds going out for one last visit. I sat nursing a butterbeer, away from the midst of the action. Music played a hit song of the time, Barely Alive, the classic Disco hit, and several of my classmates were dancing across the room.  
I wondered about my lack of "free spirit." Seven years had gone by; I had increased my knowedge about the wizarding world by tenfold, but I was no less comfortable in crowds then as I was now.  
I felt my body sway to the music, but remained seated. I tried to find any of my classmates who were like me, sitting alone, perhaps nursing too a butterbeer.  
Amazingly, I do. He's there, in clean and prim clothing, merely sitting there, staring at nothing. He sits in the corner, and I would not have seen him had a group of kids not moved to change the music playing.  
I had noticed him ever since he came five years ago- a very quiet Slytherin by the name of Severus Snape.  
He has always been distinguished in my eyes- he didn't join in the taunts and jeers of some of his more verbal Slytherin classmates against James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin- all 5th yr Gryffandors.  
Unfortuantly, the group (the Marauders, as they called themselves) were adored by the younger students, hated by the older. Whenever the Marauders lost us points- 50, 100 at a time, all due to some stupid rule-breaking, I was embarassed to be a Gryffandor.  
What I learned of Snape I learned mainly from hearing James and his group talk. He might have been quiet, but he excelled in all his subjects- constantly Sirius would bicker how he always knew the answer, especially in Potions. Also how he was always trying to get them expelled. I didn't know if I believed Sirius on that point.  
I never had an occasion to talk to him myself, could never find a viable reason for a Gryffandor to talk to a Slytherin, but I wanted to meet him. He was always calm, cool- so different from his 11 or 12 yr old counterparts. Even though I only glimsped him in meals or walking down the hall, I saw that he never wasted a movement. He was always going somewhere- I never saw him talk to anyone in casual conversation. And now that he was a little older, I could see the type of man he could become; tall, dominate, critical of his surroundings.  
Sure, sometimes he lashed out, especially at James, but what was to be expected? Anyone treated like he was by james would be tempted to hex themout of existance.  
He was what my mother called an "old soul" though, one who seemingly was never a child, and sprung into existance with all the morals and behavior of one older.  
In a second, he turned his eyes toward me. Even across the room, his eyes held my gaze for a second. Even across the room, I could tell the same penetrating eyes scritinizing motives, character.  
I hastily turned away and took a drink of my butterbeer. Those eyes, as penetrating as they are, were intimidating, even at fifteen.  
I traced the design of a flower some customer had carved into the table and wondered why he was even in the inn. A person like him, I thought, didn't volunteerily come to a public place- he looked extremely uncomfortable.  
Even more uncomfortable than me, I added.  
I put my elbow on the table, and used my hand to support my chin, and seriously considered working here after I graduated.

Fate does work in mysterious ways, I think. I ended up getting a job at the inn, and making it my life. The old owner was very nice, much like an adopted grandmother, and taught me all I knew about the tavern business.  
I was forced by my occupation to become more open; I became skilled in the art of small talk with the customers. I learned how to flirt, how to stop advances by drunken men, how to break up fights. I was content.  
But the old owner died in ' 75; how surprised I was to find that the inn had been left to me! Of course, I kept the name, and continued to run the time-honored tradition that was the Three Broomsticks just as she left it.  
As such, I saw the Hogwarts community grow up before me; they maintained their Hogsmeade visits, and even if I had to serve my own classmates, I didn't mind much. The bond between my old school was great.  
Students started to talk to me, the pretty lady "who always wore green" who served them drinks in the inn as if I was more like a friend. I found another extended family; I knew I had won yet another agegroup when I told them my horror stories about Hogwarts- the one time in McGonagall's class when she turned a student into a toad; when Peeves took the teacher's cloaks and flung them all over the Great Hall. In return, they told me the latest gossip- Filch was bombarded with Dungbombs, Hagrid found money in the yard behind the hut, Moaning Myrtle filling a protest against having her toliet fixed. We laughed, my business was in the red, and I truely felt at home.

But of course, there was the ever present threat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Though I was surrounded by firends, I was also surrounded by tragedy. I still remember some of the headlines: 4 Maimed; Killed Today, Death Eaters Flash Sign Again , 16 Muggles Murdered in Kent...  
I was always the first to hear the latest news, and people were more friendly to me than others- they told me fears, worries. Maybe they figured I wouldn't tell. Maybe I embodied the typical Neighborhood Innkeeper, who would lend a sympathetic ear. I don't know.  
It seems inns are always hotbeds for emotion, and mine was no exception.....  
*********  
1981:  
In June 1981, I had my hair (still light brown, but with a few gray hairs) pulled up in a ponytail as I wiped a few remaining glasses from the night. I had just shooed away the last of the night's customers, feeling pretty good about things in general.  
My back was turned; I hear running on the pavement outside, and the sudden opening of the door.  
"Sorry, We're clo- oh my goodness!"  
The man who stood before me looked positively....dead. He wore all black, almost blending with the shadows created from the candles in the room. His face was unnaturally pale, and his long hair hid his eyes. He looked as if he was hunted. Yet there was an aura of control which surrounded his figure, even as he leaned on a table to catch his breath.  
"Madam Rosmerta, I need your help."  
His voice was unusually calm- and the fact he had called me by a proper name meant he knew me- but I had never seen the man before.  
"Sit, down, sit down, I'll get you some-"  
"No." he objected very plainly between catching his breath. He looked away from me, into the darkness of night. This was not at all what I wanted to do tonight.  
"Look, you're obviously tired. Do you want-"  
He looked at me, his black eyes suddenly very aware of the situation.  
"Listen carefully. Two Death Eaters are after me- who and why are not important. Two men will soon come in, and you must drive them away. Use whatever means necessary."  
I didn't doubt his story for one second.  
"Come here," I said, where I led him to a small cellar which I hardly used. I moved the trunk covering the hole, opened the door into the cellar. He climbed in immediately, moving quickly but carefully into the hole.  
My heart stopped when I heard the door bash open, loud footsteps treading toward my direction.  
I only barely managed to cover the door with the trunk when two figures clad in black came in- strangely calm.  
I emerged from the hall,. hand on my wand, as I said, "Sorry guys. Its past closing time- and you're a little early for the morning rush."  
"Where is he?"  
I put on my tough outfit. "Who?" I answered.  
"Don't play games, we know you're hiding him."  
"I assure you gentlemen that I do not hide men in this establishment; rather, I keep them at home for my personal pleasure."  
They looked at each other, then at me. I stood there, with my hands on my hips, my wand sticking out of my right hand. I was expecting them to charge the place, really, I was. I was looking for the slightest twitch from either of them, because they would not hesitate to kill me. I knew that. And damned if I was going to die at the hands of these two-bit henchmen.  
"So- get out."  
One of them came foward. "I don't think so. I think you're going to let us look."  
"Maybe when hell freezes over," I responded, but when I saw one of them reach for their wand, I rolled and dived behind the bar, as a blaze of green light hit the counter. I had to think- quickly. God, with all my practice and skills in magic, I grabbed my finest bottle of whisky and bashed it on the head of the shorter one!  
He screamed, and fell unconscious. I then dove again, for the other one shot the green light at me once more. I upturned the table, creating a shield. He approached me, yelling in rage. I must admit at that point I felt done for. But just as I was going to take another valient dive-  
"EXPELIRAMUS!"  
The assailent went flying, and boy was I surprised when he hit the wall of the tavern, and slid down, unconscious.  
The man stood in the doorway between the storage areas and the tavern itself.  
"How did you-"  
"Look- you need to call the authortities. Tell them that two Death Eaters by the name of Lestrange and Dolohov tried to break into the inn. You will say you fought them off enough for them to leave. Do not-" he said, looking at me, "mention anything about me. Anything."  
In a brief second, those penetrating eyes held mine. And it felt slightly familiar.  
Great. Deja vu.  
"What about the bodies?"  
He looked around, and I could tell he was doing some very quick thinking.  
"Do you have a backdoor?"  
"Of course- I"  
But without a word, he cast a simple Levitating charm. The bodies rose and hovered.  
He turned to me again, and I saw now a really young man.  
"Thank you," he said, very plainly.  
"Thank you for saving me," I replied.  
He moved his wand, and the bodies of the two DeathEaters started to make their way to the back door. He stopped at the door leading to the back rooms and turned again, those black eyes and whirl of cloth suddenly grabbing my atention.  
"Did you know James amd Lily Potter?"  
My mind casted around, and found a reference-  
"Yes- I went to school with them. I-I was two years above them. Why?"  
"They're dead," he said plainly. "Voldemort killed them about an hour ago, and tried to kill their boy, Harry, but Voldemort was destroyed. Harry lived."  
With that he turned toward the exit, the bodies already outside.  
My mind didn't even register James and Lily's death. All I thought about was those eyes...that I had seen them before....  
I ran to the doorway where the man was just heading out the outside door into the street.  
"Wait!"  
He turned to me, and I could see so many worries written upon his face.  
I quickly halved the distance between us. I raised slightly a hand in understanding, perhaps confusion.  
"Did I know you?"  
He was startled, but I almost didn't register the change. He looked into my eyes once more, that shrewd, calculating look, as if he was again checking out my character.  
"No."  
With that, he turned around and sped off into the night.

The tavern was a bustling with news and such for the next couple of days. I had to file my complaint, and deal with the customers- they wanted to celebrate the dissaperance of You-Know-Who. They wanted to repeat and discuss the little details known. They wanted to cry and share their feelings about the good times with James and Lily, and all the others who died because of him. They wanted to drink. I was there for it all...just serving my role as a humble innkeeper.

I never told anyone about the visitor. Even when I heard people ask me "Where were you when you found out?", I always smiled my mysterious smile and answer "I was here, of course." Then I served them their drinks, turned to the bar, and allowed myself one second of remineince before I started mixing another drink.

Despite what he said, I knew that man the second he said no. I spent many hours wondering what caused the quite boy of fifteen to have gotten involved in such a dangerous organization. Now, a few years and several gray hairs later, all I hear about Severus Snape is bad- how he's so mean and vindictive, and unfair. Now all I hear is from his students.......  
**********  
1993:  
"So last term," one of the 3rd years was telling me as I poured their drink, "He substituted for Professor Lupin."  
"Ah, your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."  
"Yea- How'd ya know?"  
"Oh, I hear many things. Go on."  
"Well, " the other girl said, sipping her butterbeer, "he came in, basically insulting Professor Lupin and his entire teaching style- and get this-"  
I sat down the other girl's drink. She took a sip and continued.  
"He assigned us two feet of parchment on werewolves!"  
"Yea- something we never studied!"  
"I mean, how unfair is that!"  
"He doesn't even teach the class!"  
"What does he teach? " I asked.  
"Potions." The girls shuddered in horror, disgust, I don't know.  
"Really?" I muttered. "How's he doing now?"  
"Who? Professor Snape?"  
"Yes."  
"Well, he's still mean as ever. But..." she looked to her friend for additional information, but she was regarded with a shrug.  
"That's it."  
"Hmm. Well, enjoy the drinks." I walked away to put the money in the register.

Another day, another bunion. I took a chance to sit down as the end of the day drew near. As I eased off my shoe and heard it clunk on the floor, I looked at the clock- the same clock that's been in the inn since I started visiting it as a little girl. Surely no one would come, I thought. I can lock up a few minutes early....  
I hear the door open.  
Great. I always speak too soon. "Just a minute! I'm...uh...putting on my shoe... "  
When I finally emerged from the counter, I was shocked to see him standing in front of the bar. I remained cool as I merely asked him-  
"Would you like something to drink?"  
"A shot of whisky."  
I was again reminded of how much had not changed in him.  
I gave him the drink, he gave me the money, and he sipped. I looked around the empty pub and back at him. His eyes were glued to the countertop. It was a look I'd recongnized- someone deep in thought.  
"So-" I asked, grabbing a broom and started to sweep the floor. "What brings you here?"  
"I'm investigating a series of illegal passageways which go from the Hogwarts campus to various sites in Hogsmeade."  
"Really?" I said. "I never heard of such passages..."  
"There's one that leads to the cellar of Honeydukes up the road," he said. "I was sent by Headmaster Dumbledore to check out other possible locations."  
He took another sip from the whisky. I moved a chair to sweep under it. "Well, I don't know of any leading into the inn, " I said, "but if you want to look...."  
He stood up and said, "If you please," ever so politely.  
I leaned the broom against the wall, and led him to the same trapdoor he hid under 10 years ago. I could not help but to think history was going to repeat itself, that the second he closed the door, two men would come banging in....  
But they didn't. And he didn't close the door. I could see him, sweeping around the darkness, using those ever-observant eyes, his wand providing just enough light to see. I merely stood at the top, near the hole, not knowing how to feel. I didn't know where this nervous energy was coming from....what caused me to pace left and right, looking eagerly into the hole, as if there was a possiblilty he wouldn't come again....  
I suddenly walked to the door, and flipped the sign from "OPEN" to "CLOSED." When I had turned around, he was out of the cellar, standing in the doorway from the storage to the tavern-  
the same place he stood after he saved me 10 years ago.

There was an awkward pause. We stood there, at opposite ends of the room, neither of us moving.  
He made a sudden move for the exit when I moved also and the words came flying out of my mouth-  
"I never told anyone."  
He paused in mid stride. His physiogamy had developed, I saw, into a blank slate. He looked at me more carefully, and I felt I was being x-rayed yet a third time- except there was no crowd in the way, and he wasn't hiding from anyone.  
"And I thank you for it."  
I made a move for a barstool. "Why don't you sit? You can have another drink- on the house. We can talk about old times."  
It looked as if he was seriously considering it. I took a seat and grabbed the whisky. But, he merely walked to the door, and turned to me.  
"Perhaps another time," he said, and with I thought was the barest of smiles, he left the inn.  
I watched his figure walk down the street: black, menacing, much like the bat the students kept comparing him to.  
But that's what he's like, I thought, as I poured myself a glass of whisky. He's been like that since he was a child. And those eyes were still there too, even after 20 years....

THE END

Well, that's it for now. How do you feel about Madam's Rosmerta's characterization? How about Snape's? Does it make sense? I want feedback, so I can find out what's wrong, what I should keep, ect. And please- no generic "It was good" comments.  
P.S. I realized after writing it that Madam Rosmerta couldn't have gone to school with James and Co, because it says in the third book that she recalls having them in the pub while they were students. But if you ignore the descrepency, its still a fine story, in my opinion.....  
P.P.S "Barely Alive" is a pun on "Stayin' Alive," the 70's disco hit.  



End file.
